Sarah vs Nine Months
by Notorious JMG
Summary: This story began as a one shot about a certain nine months in Sarah Walker's life, beginning eleven months after getting married to Chuck in "Chuck vs. the Bright Side of Life"; however, after a couple of suggestions, I've turned it into a full story.
1. The Whole Nine Months

**_Author's Note:_** _This story begins approximately eleven months after the end of "Chuck vs. the Bright Side of Life", and therefore is in the same timeline as not only that story, but also "The Seduction of Sarah Walker" and "The Star-Spangled Intersect"._

* * *

**Month One**

Sarah started noticing the first signs right at the beginning of March. One afternoon, as she was preparing to participate in the VERY rare mission, she was putting on her custom made Kevlar vest, and realized that it was incredibly uncomfortable. In fact, it really kind of hurt!

The next morning, as she was fastening her bra, she realized that it was very, very tight. Much more so than it should have been. "What the hell is going on?" she muttered.

Dropping the bra, she walked out into the kitchen, topless. "Are my boobs getting bigger?" she asked. No "Good morning," or anything.

Chuck's eyes widened, and he couldn't help it. He literally spit a mouthful of coffee across the table. "Jesus, I don't know," he coughed. "They look fine to me."

Sarah rolled her eyes. "Men."

**Month Two**

Sarah was finding herself more and more tired – and yet, she was also finding herself incredibly horny every night, and so ended up falling asleep FAR later than she really needed to be.

Not that Chuck was complaining about that. Between that and the fact that he had successfully sold a video game to Electronic Arts, and gotten to subsequently walk into the Buy More and announce very loudly that they could "take this job and shove it," he was a very happy man.

Too bad Sarah was so irritable right now. And why wouldn't she be? Here she was, giving a mission briefing to the team of government agents about to go take down an international drug kingpin – and she didn't get to go along. After years of being a deep-cover operative, here she was, stuck at a desk, going on a mission once in a blue moon.

As she stood at the head of the conference room, giving the briefing, her stomach started to rumble. She stopped talking. Her stomach was doing more than rumbling.

"Uh, if you'll excuse me," she said quickly, and dashed from the room.

She barely made it to the bathroom in time.

**Month Three**

Three test kits hadn't been enough to convince her, so Sarah had ended up going to see one of the doctors at Cedars that was in the employ of the CIA. He ran a full battery of tests, which confirmed exactly what the home tests had said.

On May 2nd, Sarah Walker Bartowski received confirmation that she was pregnant. Two months and change, the doctor had told her, projecting that conception had probably happened on or around Valentine's Day.

It was almost clichéd enough to make her sick, but her body was doing a perfectly good job of that all by itself.

That night, she and Chuck went over to have dinner with Ellie and Devin. She got a strange look from the good Captain when she turned down wine with her meal, as he said, "1985 Cabernet Sauvignon? You usually drink this stuff like water, Sarah!"

He got a rather nasty look for that one, and she had to physically restrain herself from kicking him.

When Ellie turned down wine as well, though, Sarah looked over at her. They made eye contact, and at that point, Devin looked at his wife, and then at Sarah. "No way."

Chuck was oblivious. "What?"

"Uh, Chuck, I think there's a good chance our family is about to get a bit more, uh, awesome, even more so than I was already expecting," Devin told his brother-in-law.

Chuck's eyes widened. "What?!"

He looked at his sister. "Ellie? Are you…" Chuck's voice trailed off.

Sarah asked first. "When, Ellie?"

"October 29th," Ellie replied with a smile. "What about you?"

"November 25th," Sarah said, smiling as well.

Chuck's head slowly swiveled around. He stared, wide-eyed, at his wife, as the cylinders all clicked into place. His eyes rolled back in his head, and Sarah thought for a moment that he was having a flash.

But no, he was just passing out.

**Month Four**

Sarah went to Cedars for her first ultrasound, and Ellie insisted on accompanying her. Even though Sarah was a month behind Ellie, she was already showing a little bit more than the older woman, which was enough to cause Ellie a little bit of concern.

Ellie had mentioned this to the ultrasound tech, who nodded and duly noted yet another bit of concern from a doctor who insisted on accompanying a friend. The tech pulled latex gloves onto her hands and began rubbing a very, VERY cold gel onto Sarah's stomach.

Ultrasound technology had changed a great deal over the years, and the definition on this ultrasound was unbelievable. It was almost like looking at a video of her interior.

As the tech moved the probe around, she grew a puzzled look on her face. She moved the probe downward, and her face took on a look of understanding.

"There's the cause of your rapid growth," she said, pointing. Ellie looked at the screen, and her jaw dropped.

"What?" Sarah asked, struggling to see. She squinted, trying to see…

…see the not one, but TWO fetuses moving around inside her uterus.

"Twins?!" she gasped.

**Month Five**

Chuck, Morgan, and Casey had spent the entire morning moving all of Sarah and Chuck's possessions from both the hotel in downtown Los Angeles and Ellie and Devin's apartment in Echo Park. With twins on the way, the spy and her husband had acknowledged that larger accommodations were going to be needed.

When they had been looking for a house, Chuck had insisted on going to the Valley. "It's safer there," he said.

And so, as they were driving through Studio City, he had seen a house with a "For Sale" sign, and nearly had a heart attack. Turning around, he drove back and pulled into the driveway.

It was nothing special – a ranch house that looked to be about fifty years old, three beds, two baths, according to the sign. It was in pretty good shape, although the lawn needed tending.

Before Sarah could ask anything, Chuck answered her unspoken question.

"This is the house I grew up in," he said.

And three weeks later, it was theirs. Devin and Chuck had painted one of the bedrooms in multiple pastel colors – blue, pink, yellow, green. The largest of the three bedrooms, conveniently attached to the larger of the two bathrooms, became their master bedroom. The third bedroom – well, that became Chuck's Geek Room, as Sarah called it.

"Nerd Cave!" he insisted.

**Month Six**

Sarah was mad. Mad as hell, even.

That Monday morning, she had walked out of the house to leave for work – and found herself unable to fit behind the wheel of her Porsche. "What the fuck?!" she snapped. "I fit on Friday!"

Just as she was discovering this, Chuck walked out the kitchen door and into the garage. He saw her difficulty in getting into her Porsche, but very wisely did not say anything except, "Do you want to take my car to work?"

Well, of course, she didn't really have a choice, now did she? And she had to admit, Chuck's car was probably a wiser choice for a woman who was six months pregnant with twins – a Dodge Magnum SRT-8, it was bigger, it was safer, and it had plenty of engine power in the unlikely event that one of her old enemies showed up to torment her.

The worst part was, it was probably the car she was going to end up driving after the kids were born anyway – two carseats would never fit into a Porsche 911.

And so, Chuck had gone gleefully flying off to the offices for Nerd Cave Video Games in Van Nuys in the Porsche, leaving Sarah with the Beast.

As she sat in the driver's seat, she decided she really didn't want to go to work. So, as she pulled out of the driveway, she called the CIA office downtown, and informed them that she was sick. She then aimed the Magnum toward Echo Park.

Twenty minutes later, she pulled up in front of Ellie and Devin's apartment building. As she was crossing the courtyard to their apartment, John Casey stepped out of his, and for some reason decided it would be a good idea to say, "Whoa, wide load coming through!"

Sarah growled, and three seconds later, Casey was on the ground, twitching. "I will END you," she threatened him, reholstering her stun gun.

She walked the last few steps to Ellie's apartment, and rang the doorbell. Ellie answered the door, hair still mussed from being in bed, wearing a bathrobe and no makeup.

"Well, if it isn't my comrade in gestation," Ellie said sleepily. "Good morning, or maybe just morning, since I can't drink coffee anymore."

"Isn't it a bitch," Sarah grumbled, entering the apartment.

Ellie invited Sarah to take a seat in the living room. "So, what brings you here this morning?"

"I can't fit in my Porsche anymore," Sarah complained. "It's not fair. I paid good money – okay, the CIA paid good money for it, and now your brother's out zipping around in it, while I'm driving around in a station wagon."

"I know how you feel," Ellie commiserated. "Devin insisted that we switch cars, said it was safer for me to be driving the Escape. I think he just wanted a crack at my G6."

"Men," Sarah said disgustedly, as Ellie snorted in agreement.

**Month Seven**

Sarah was not amused. For some reason, she had decided to accompany Chuck to the Buy More as he made an appearance promoting the game he had sold to E.A.

Given the fact that he had once worked at that Buy More, they were more than pleased to have him come to promote the game. However, Sarah had not figured on having to pee every few minutes.

After she had complained one too many times about standing in line, Chuck broke down, and talked Big Mike into giving Sarah the key to the employee restroom. Of course, this rather upset the remainder of the Buy More employees – "I have to urinate with the common folk?" Lester had asked disgustedly – but Big Mike had told them to deal with it or quit.

Sarah didn't know where it was all coming from, either. It seemed like she was getting rid of fluids faster than she could take them in. Feeling dehydrated, she had started chugging out of a liter bottle of water.

"That's just unnatural," Morgan whispered to Chuck, seeing Sarah drinking more water than a camel after a month in the desert.

Chuck turned and fixed at Morgan with a look of pissed-offedness. "You talk about my wife that way again, and I will put a deadbolt on the Morgan Door."

Because yes, there was, indeed, a Morgan Door at the house in Studio City.

**Month Eight**

Sarah had been ordered to sixteen-hours-a-day bed rest. Because she was having twins, her obstetrician didn't want to take any chances whatsoever.

The remaining eight hours were hers to do with as she pleased, but it really wasn't that great, given that she had to spend the bulk of that time each day working at the CIA offices. What little remained she dedicated to buying clothes for the babies – whatever gender they turned out to be.

"I don't want to know," she had insisted when the doctor had told them that they could know right then and there. Chuck wanted to know, but he promised not to tell Sarah.

But the remaining sixteen hours were rather difficult. Chuck had rigged up one hell of an entertainment system in their bedroom – a large screen plasma TV, hooked up to a one-hundred disc DVD changer that had disc from every season of _Firefly_, _Friends_, and _Scrubs _in it, in addition to the Rolling Stones' entire catalog. He made sure she could easily control everything with the remote.

While she was grateful for everything Chuck had done for her, she was still very irritable. The worst part was that with her hormones running rampant, she really, really wanted to have sex, but her doctor had said "Absolutely not," and so she had to make do with self-gratification.

Bed rest sucked.

**Month Nine**

Sarah had been scheduled to have a caesarean section on November 20th, just as a precaution. The doctor didn't think it was a good idea for her to have the babies by natural birth.

So, when she was sitting on Ellie's couch on November 15th, holding little two-week old baby Katie, Chuck next to her, her eyes went wide as she suddenly felt like she had just massively peed herself.

Chuck didn't notice, and neither did Devin, but Ellie, sitting across the room, saw the wetness suddenly dripping down the couch. "Oh my God," Ellie said.

Sarah looked up at her and nodded. "Chuck!" Ellie exclaimed. "Your wife is going into labor!"

Chuck looked over at Sarah, eyes wide – and then they rolled back in his head and he passed out.

"Oh for Christ's sake," Ellie said in annoyance. "Devin, help Sarah out to the Escape, would you? I'll see if I can get Chuck awake again."

When they got to Cedars-Sinai Hospital, Sarah was informed by her somewhat amused doctor that the caesarean plan was out the window, because those babies were coming – RIGHT NOW.

The epidural just wasn't enough for Sarah. She lay on the bed, trying to push, screaming in pain. To his credit, Chuck stayed with her, and managed not to pass out, but when the first baby crowned, Sarah glared at him, murder in her eyes, and grated, "If you ever touch me again, I will SHOOT IT OFF."

The first baby delivered was a little girl. After she was cleaned off, she was handed to Chuck, who bent down and showed her to Sarah. Sarah smiled briefly, but Chuck jerked their daughter back away quickly as Sarah screamed again in pain. The unexpected noise set off a round of crying from the newborn infant, who despite being tiny, was almost as loud as her mother.

The second baby came a little more smoothly. It was a little boy, and after he was delivered, Sarah began to breathe much more easily. The doctor asked Chuck and Sarah what the names were going to be, and he was informed that they were to be named Lisa Erin and John Marcus.

That night, as Chuck sat in Sarah's room with her, she relented a little. "Okay, maybe I won't shoot it off."

"Thank God," he replied.

"But I would recommend you not come near me for awhile, buster."


	2. Month One

Valentine's Day.

Sarah had never been a big fan of it. First of all, she thought it was an over-commercialized excuse for greeting card companies to make a lot of money and to make single people feel crappy.

That, and she didn't have a really great history with Valentine's Day.

Once upon a time, Sarah had been known as Beth Reynolds. Beth Reynolds, the Boston Latin student who all the guys thought was God's gift to men. Beth Reynolds, the all-state softball pitcher and cheerleader. Beth Reynolds, the National Merit Scholar.

Beth Reynolds, who lost her virginity on Valentine's Day at the age of fifteen.

In 1998, her first boyfriend had somehow convinced her that it would be romantic to "make love" for the first time on Valentine's Day. Trouble was, there was nothing loving about it. It was just him humping away for less than two minutes, and her feeling shitty afterwards – especially when she heard what he'd written about her on the boys' locker room wall.

Not too long after that, her home life had gone in the toilet as her parents had seemingly turned into the real-life equivalent of Itchy and Scratchy. As a result, Beth had turned to sex to escape.

By the time the next Valentine's Day rolled around, she had developed a bit of a slutty reputation. By the Valentine's Day after THAT, she was firmly entrenched as a full-on slut. She realized it, too. She didn't like it, and she tried not to admit it, but deep down, she knew that that's what everybody around her thought of her.

After she went to college, she sought counseling for what a therapist had told her was a sexual addiction. By Valentine's Day 2001, she was practically celibate.

And then 9/11 happened, and her father snapped. Three months later, her mother committed suicide. Valentine's Day 2002 found Beth drowning her sorrows and falling asleep in an alcoholic stupor.

Not long after that, she had joined the CIA. She had been personally recruited by the director two years before, and decided it was her way out. When she joined, Beth Reynolds faded into the past, to be replaced by Sarah Walker.

Valentine's Day 2003, Sarah spent by herself, on the shooting range at the CIA's Langley Headquarters. She didn't even notice it had passed.

Valentine's Day 2004 was an entirely different matter. The fall before, she had met a young man who worked for South Africa's National Intelligence Agency. His name was Piers de Klerk, and she had fallen for him. Hard.

He made her feel like she had never felt before – basically, like a giddy schoolgirl in love. On Feburary 14th, 2004, she had been in Prague, hunting down a former KGB network, but she still got a silly e-mail from him, complete with a video clip of him wishing her a Happy Valentine's Day that had made a totally goofy smile break out on her face.

A month later, she had attended his funeral. Piers de Klerk had fallen victim to the Madrid commuter train bombings on March 11th, 2004.

The following Valentine's Day, she had been completely successful in ignoring its approach until her trainee, Bryce Larkin, had mentioned it to her. They had been returning from a training session in Arizona, and he had asked if she would be willing to go out with him on Valentine's Day – just as friends.

She couldn't deny that Bryce was attractive, and she did enjoy spending time around him. However, her emotions were still very raw – even though it had been eleven months since Piers' death. So she had told him sorry, but no.

Things had changed – significantly – by Valentine's Day 2006. She had just finished a disastrous mission in Brazil and been put on reduced duty, but she had also found herself falling for Bryce Larkin. That Valentine's Day was fun, if a little odd.

Valentine's Day 2007 was a little different. Things had started to get strained between her and Bryce, and they were only a little ways from a major blowup that would spell the beginning of the end for their relationship.

Seven months later, Bryce was killed – or so she thought. And then she had a circumstance of fate which never would have expected to occur.

A mission had taken her to Los Angeles, where she had encountered an extraordinary man. Not ordinarily the type she'd go for, he had nonetheless somehow so affected her that she reached the point where a gaze, a spoken word, a brush of his hand could set butterflies to flying in her stomach.

Chuck Bartowski was, unfortunately, an asset that she was supposed to be protecting. However, when he started dating another woman a month and a half after Sarah met him, and she had to fight off the irrational urge to maim that other woman, she knew she had a problem.

This problem was confirmed when she passionately kissed Chuck just before she thought a bomb was going to go off and kill them both. It turned out that the "bomb" was actually a stasis chamber for Bryce Larkin, who was actually not dead.

Bryce's return threw a monkey wrench into Sarah's life, but in the end, she decided she was better off not returning to him. That left her in Los Angeles, confused and rather lonely.

Shortly before Valentine's Day 2008, Chuck had asked Sarah if she wanted to go out, just as friends, and she had said yes, jokingly insisting that he bring her roses and Godiva chocolates.

When he did exactly that, she was surprised – but very pleasantly so. She actually ended up enjoying Valentine's Day for the first time in four years.

One Valentine's Day later, she was engaged, and less than a month from getting married. That Valentine's Day wasn't quite as enjoyable, mostly because her wedding planner – and soon-to-be sister-in-law – had her running around like a chicken with its head cut off.

And now, it was Valentine's Day 2010. Her first as a married woman. Married to Mr. Charles Bartowski.

Chuck had recently started up a little video game development company on the side. The first game he wrote – interestingly enough, about an individual who gets a government database stuck in his head – he sold to Electronic Arts for just shy of 600,000. The next day, he had walked into the Buy More, and announced very loudly that they could "Take this job and shove it!"

And with the disposable income he now had, he had gone all out for Valentine's Day. A suite at the Beverly Hills Hotel, dinner at the Belvedere, chocolate covered strawberries and champagne in the room, rose petals all over the place. Sarah couldn't believe it when she stepped into the room.

As she drifted off to sleep that night, very, VERY content, it occurred to Sarah that Chuck had not used a condom that night. Not that she particularly cared. She WAS married to him, after all.

* * *

Two weeks later, Sarah stood on the scale in her bathroom. She looked down at it and frowned. She'd gained three pounds in the last two weeks? Really? How had she managed to do that?

Sighing, she stepped back off the scale. Maybe she'd cut back a little on certain things. Wine would probably be the first to go – all those empty calories.

Four days after that, she got a phone call. "I had a flash, Sarah!" Chuck shouted. "There's a Colombian drug lord in Venice Beach, and he's going to start some trouble. I can't get in touch with Casey or Father O'Halloran!"

"Alright, Chuck, stay calm," she advised her husband. "I'm going to call Director Graham and find out what he wants me to do."

And so she did. She got on the phone with Director Graham, and informed him of the situation. She could hear him sigh on the other end, and then say, "Well, you are still certified for field operations. Get out there!'

Sarah couldn't believe it. Her first real field mission in almost a year. She dashed down to the locker room, ripped open her locker, and pulled out her custom-made Kevlar vest. It had to be custom-made for a reason – as her mother had once told her, she was "blessed" in certain areas.

Well, right now, her well-endowed chest was being more of a curse than a blessing. Her Kevlar vest seemed abnormally tight as she pulled it on, and when she tightened the straps, it really HURT!

Gritting her teeth, she just tried to ignore the pain. But for the rest of the afternoon – the drive to Venice, the capture of the Colombian drug lord, and even after she had the vest off, she was really, very sore.

The next morning, she was trying to put her bra on – one of her expensive Victoria's Secret bras – and she couldn't get it to fasten in the back. She was about to give it a good hard yank when she remembered how much pain she had been in the remainder of the day before.

She dropped the bra to the floor. Narrowing her eyes, she just stared at her reflection in the mirror. Was she getting bigger?

Sarah decided to consult with somebody she considered to be an expert. Topless, she walked out of the bathroom into the kitchenette area of her hotel suite, where Chuck was sitting, reading the newspaper.

"Chuck," she said, distracting him from the sports section, "are my boobs getting bigger?"

The question caused his head to snap up and swivel toward her, just as he took a drink of coffee. He couldn't help it. He ended up spitting his mouthful of coffee across the table.

After coughing for a couple of minutes, he finally recovered. Sarah still stood in front of him, half-naked.

"Jesus, I don't know," he sputtered, still coughing. "They look fine to me!"

Then he smiled. "I'd be happy to do a thorough check, though, if you'd like."

Sarah sighed and rolled her eyes. "Men."


	3. Month Two

The five day span of March 7th to 11th was somewhat of an emotional roller coaster for Sarah Walker. On the 7th, she celebrated the first anniversary of her marriage to one Mr. Charles Bartowski, still referred to in intelligence circles as "the Intersect", although Director Graham also rather commonly referred to him as "the pain in the ass".

Chuck had made somewhat of a tactical error in going so over the top with Valentine's Day the month before, because that meant that Sarah would be expecting something even bigger and better for their anniversary, a mere three weeks later. And yet…

Their anniversary was understated and simple, but perfect – at least as far as Sarah was concerned. Chuck rented a cabin up by Big Bear Lake – the drive there being the perfect test for his new toy, a Dodge Magnum SRT-8.

Sarah had scoffed at the fact that he wanted to get a station wagon – and the scoffing had lasted right up until he got onto the freeway in it for the first time. By the time he came screeching to a stop in front of the hotel where they now lived together, she desperately wanted to dive out of the car and kiss the ground, restraining herself only because she had a professional façade to maintain.

The cabin was rustic, but Chuck had gone to pains to make sure it was secluded and had an unparalleled view of the sunset over the lake. Sarah couldn't believe the view – she had never seen a sunset like it.

And then, Chuck made dinner. Sarah had never for a minute had a clue that Chuck could cook, but when he turned out grilled salmon filets with a mouth-watering blackberry glaze, with melt-in-your-mouth potatoes on the side, and then presented her with tiramisu MADE FROM SCRATCH for dessert, her head just about exploded.

"When, sir, did you learn how to cook?" she asked, incredulous.

"Well…" Chuck hesitated, color rising in his cheeks. But he decided it would be in his best interests to tell the full story.

"I wanted our first anniversary to be, well, perfect, I guess. I know it seems old-fashioned and clichéd, but that's just the way I am. So, I asked Ellie, and apparently, she for some reason knows the chef at this four-star restaurant in Arizona, and she sweet-talked some recipes out of him, which Awesome then painstakingly taught me how to make… and there it is."

For some reason, Sarah began to feel overly emotional, and tears came to her eyes. Chuck saw that and was somewhat alarmed. "Hey, are you okay?" he asked, rather concerned.

"Yes," Sarah whispered, almost ashamed of her tears. She stood, kissed Chuck, and embraced him. "I just… I can't imagine having married a more perfect man…"

A mildly smug look appeared on Chuck's face. "Well, that's always good to hear, I suppose," he replied. "I take it you approve?"

"Come with me, and I'll show you how much I approve," Sarah replied, grabbing his shirt sleeve as she pulled away. She wiped the tears out of her eyes, the logical part of her brain trying to figure out what the hell was the deal with the emotional reaction versus the sudden arousal she was feeling.

Twenty minutes later, as she lay curled up against Chuck, her husband lying back in bed with a rather satisfied look on her face, that logical part of her brain came up with an explanation. The rest of her brain immediately rejected the explanation, partly because it seemed unlikely, but mostly because she REALLY didn't want to hear it.

* * *

Four days later was more of an emotional low. March 11th, 2010. Six years to the day since an event that had nearly shattered her life.

In 2004, she had, completely out of the blue, fallen in love with a young man by the name of Piers de Klerk. Unfortunately, the day that she told him that she loved him was March 11th, 2004. They were in Spain, and he was getting on a commuter train to Madrid.

Four days later, she had attended his funeral in Johannesburg, and met his mother for the first time. Every year since then, she had gone out of her way – no matter where she was – to call his mother on March 11th, even if just for a few minutes. Bryce had never known, and Chuck didn't know. Chuck never would know, and really, it was for his own safety. There were just things about her past that she could never share with anybody.

It had been particularly tricky to call Francine de Klerk the year before, as she was on her honeymoon with Chuck on March 11th. But Sarah felt a sense of obligation, and so had explained her absence away on going out for an early morning jog. Chuck had never questioned her.

And now, while she was at the federal building in downtown Los Angeles, she was calling Francine de Klerk yet again. It took a moment to make the connection – a call from California to South Africa can always be a questionable proposition, and that was exacerbated by the nine-hour time difference between Los Angeles and Johannesburg.

But Francine answered on the second ring. "Hello?"

"Hello, Francine. It's Sarah Walker."

"Sarah!" the older woman said, always happy to hear from her, despite the circumstances under which they'd come to meet each other. "I'm so happy to hear from you! I wasn't sure if I'd be hearing from you anymore, after receiving the wedding announcement and the pictures."

"I couldn't just stop calling," Sarah said. "Just because I'm married doesn't mean that I'm going to forget how much Piers meant to me."

"And you're an amazing person for that," Francine de Klerk replied. "But that young man you married, Chuck Bartowski, he certainly is a looker."

Sarah laughed. "That he is. I mean, it's not what I thought of him when I first saw him, but I didn't see him the first time dressed like he was at the wedding. He was dressed in a short sleeve white shirt and a too-long black tie."

"Bit of a nerd, is he?"

"He describes himself as a professional nerd," Sarah replied.

Francine sighed. "I think Piers would approve."

"I hope so," Sarah said. But as she thought about it, old emotions began to rise to the surface.

"Are you still there, Sarah?"

"Yes," Sarah said softly. "I… I don't know why, but I'm… feeling so guilty about Piers all of a sudden."

She could almost hear Francine frown at the other end. "Sarah, why? It's been six years?"

Tears began pooling in Sarah's eyes as she said, "Francine, he came to Spain… he came to Spain to see me."

"No, Sarah," Francine replied, her voice taking on a bit of an edge. "He went to Spain to do his job. The fact that you were able to be there as well was a bit of providence. Think of it – he got to tell the woman that he loved how he felt while he still had the chance."

"I know, I know," Sarah replied, practically sobbing now. "I just… I feel so guilty about it all!"

"Sarah!" Francine responded, now clearly disappointed in the younger woman. "Listen to me very carefully. First of all, I know that Piers would not approve of this line of thought. Secondly, it is certainly not in any way fair to your husband. This is something that happened six years in the past. You cannot let it affect your life, the one you've built with Chuck."

Sarah took a deep breath, collecting herself. "I know, you're right. I just… I've been so emotional the last few days… I really don't know what's going on."

When Francine de Klerk heard those words, she, as a mother of three, had a clue what was going on, but she chose to not say anything. "I'm sure you'll be fine," she assured Sarah.

* * *

Three weeks later, on April Fools' Day, Sarah found herself giving a briefing to a group of individuals – John Casey and Chuck included – who were about to go try to take down a drug network in Newport Beach. A Colombian drug lord had popped up in Venice the month before, and the intelligence he had given them, plus a couple of flashes that Chuck had experienced, had led the intelligence community to believe that the Medellin Cartel was building up quite an extensive network in Orange County.

But Sarah didn't get to go. Oh, no. As part of her agreement with the CIA, when she got married, she was relegated to analyst work, going on missions on in extreme cases. The capture of the drug lord the month before had been an extreme case. This was not.

And as a result, Sarah was pretty irritated. When she took what had turned into almost constant soreness in her chest, and piled on top of that her overwhelming emotional state the last few weeks, added in a case of raging hormones, and sprinkled a mission briefing on top of it, it was enough to really piss her off.

Nonetheless, she really had no choice in the matter. And so, at just after eight AM on April Fools' Day, she was telling this group of agents PLUS HER HUSBAND all about the mission they were about to undertake.

"We believe the drugs come in here," she said, pointing to the beach. "They load them onto speedboats, and then drop them by night. We're not even worried about that part of the operation right now – we want to capture the lieutenants.

"They hang out at the Newport Beach Country Club." She indicated a large expanse of golf course groomed greenery next to the Fashion Island mall. "The country club, unfortunately, has indicated that there is no possible way that they're going to let us do a takedown there."

"We could just tell them we're doing the takedown, and they can go screw themselves," John Casey suggested.

"Orange County, Casey," Chuck said. "Lots of bitter people with far too much money. Mostly Republicans. Angry, gun-toting, meat-eating Republicans."

"Hey, I'm an angry gun-toting, meat-eating Republican, but I'm not an asshole," Casey grumbled.

"GENTLEMEN," Sarah snapped. "Focus, please?"

"Yeah, yeah."

"Yes, dear."

Sarah bit her tongue. She hated it when Chuck said things like that in the professional environment – not because it made her look less professional, but because he knew just how to get to her.

"Alright. So, around one o'clock on Thursdays, they almost invariably go over to Fashion Island and buy themselves new suits at Saks. Ridiculous, I know, but it's a perfect capture point."

Without warning, her stomach spasmed. It hurt, and she suddenly felt viciously nauseous. She swallowed, shook her head, and continued. "We take them down, and, then, um…"

Her stomach started acting up again. She took a deep breath. "The plan is to drive them to the UC Irvine campus where they will be ext-"

This time, the spasm was unstoppable. Her eyes grew wide. "If you'll excuse me a minute –"

Sarah ran out of the room. Chuck, suddenly filled with concern, dashed out of the room after her, and reached the hallway just in time to see her barrel through the door of the ladies' room.

He ran down the hall and opened the door. He heard the distinct sound of his wife vomiting, and ducked back out. Chuck didn't do well with other people being sick – it usually set him off too.

After a moment, he opened the door again. Silence. "Sarah?"

"Yeah," he heard her voice say weakly.

"Are you okay?"

A stall door opened, and she stepped out. Her hands were shaking a little, but otherwise, she seemed to be alright – color was rapidly returning to her face, and her footing was sure as she stepped to the sink.

She took a moment to steady herself, and then turned on the faucet. Cupping her hands, she filled them with water, then lifted them to her face, rinsed her mouth, and spat the water back out.

"Yeah, I'm alright," she finally said. "I don't know what's wrong with me."

_YES YOU DO!_ that persistently logical part of her brain insisted, but she ignored it.

"Let's get back to the briefing, okay?"


	4. Month Three

Sarah Walker stared at the small pink strip in her hand in disbelief.

There was no way. It was impossible. And yet, there it was – that little plus sign, sitting there on the strip, not going anywhere.

She needed a second opinion. So she went out and got another kit – different brand, same result. Same thing on the third kit – yet another brand, but the same result.

A part of her brain seemed to mock her. "You've known for quite a while now, Agent Walker," it said. And she really had.

She had ballooned from a C to a D cup. Her emotions had gone completely around the bend at various times. She found herself in what felt like a constant state of sexual arousal – not that her husband was complaining about that. She had regularly been sick in the mornings for three weeks.

But the final proof was when she missed her period for the second month in a row. There was no getting around that. And yet, part of her mind still denied it.

Sarah chopped the three test strips up into tiny little pieces and flushed them. She burned the boxes and the instruction manuals – if Chuck happened to see one little piece of a pregnancy test kit, he would probably freak out. Or pass out. Or both.

After completely clearing the house of anything suspicious, she called Cedars-Sinai Hospital. Dr. Ronald Zinn, one of the OB/GYNs, was actually on the CIA's payroll. He was commonly called upon to treat injuries ranging from sprained ankles to full-on surgery for national security assets in Los Angeles.

Right at the moment, though, Sarah needed to speak with him regarding his area of specialty. He had a half hour available at 11:00 AM, because a patient had cancelled. Sarah promised him she'd be there.

"So, what brings you to my humble place of work today, Agent Walker?" Dr. Zinn asked when she entered his office.

"Right, Cedars-Sinai is humble," Sarah cracked. "The Beverly Center on one side, West Hollywood on another, Beverly Hills on the third. SO humble."

"Would you perhaps rather go to St. Vincent?" Dr. Zinn asked drily. "Because I'm sure it can be arranged."

"Alright," Sarah replied. "I'm here because I think I might be pregnant. Which is impossible."

"Agent Walker," Zinn said, "given your line of work, you should know that nothing is impossible. But… I must ask, why do you say it's impossible."

Sarah shrugged. "When I was certified as a deep cover agent in 2003, I received a Norplant implant. That's supposed to prevent pregnancy, right?"

Zinn raised his right eyebrow. "For five years, Agent Walker. It would've worn out in 2008. Did you have it replaced?"

"No," Sarah breathed, the realization striking hard. "But… still, my husband always wears a condom!"

Then she remembered. Valentine's Day. "No, wait, he doesn't," she said softly.

Dr. Zinn nodded and smiled knowingly. "What symptoms have you had, Agent Walker?"

She was rather clinical in listing them off. "Increased breast size and soreness, unstable emotions, high level of sexual arousal, morning sickness, and I haven't had a period since the beginning of February."

"And here it is May 2nd, Agent Walker," he replied. "Now, I need to do a pelvic exam to be sure, but I would say you're almost certainly pregnant."

"Oh, happiness," she said. "A pelvic exam."

Fortunately, it was relatively short. "You are definitely pregnant, Agent Walker. A little shy of three months, I'd say."

Sarah closed her eyes. A rush of emotions hit her all at once – disappointment and frustration at yet another limitation on her job, mixed with a feeling of overwhelming joy.

"Do you remember a particular day around early or mid February when your husband didn't use a condom?" Dr. Zinn asked. "It's a long shot, I know…"

"I remember exactly," Sarah replied, rolling her eyes at how utterly clichéd her answer was going to be. "Valentine's Day."

"Alright," Dr. Zinn said, wisely choosing not to remark on the conception date. "Then, we figure forty weeks out from Valentine's Day, and we can safely forecast a due date of… November 25th."

"I… see."

* * *

Sarah wasn't quite sure how to break the news to Chuck. She was quite certain that he was going to have a little freak out session when she told him. Of course, after that, she was quite certain that he'd be overjoyed and likely be an incredible father, but it was the initial part that concerned her.

Chuck ended up helping Sarah delay telling him. He was on the phone when he arrived home, arguing with Morgan about something. The two together had used the funds from his sale of his video game to form a little start-up – Nerd Cave Video Games. They rented a tiny office space in Van Nuys, but they were working on a video game that Activision was apparently interested in paying in the neighborhood of two million dollars for.

So Chuck wanted everything to be perfect. He didn't want to give Activision a beta release – he wanted them to receive a gold release. Morgan, on the other hand, apparently thought that the beta version was good enough to send to Activision.

Sarah smiled to herself. Betas were not that great, which the NSA and CIA had realized when the beta Intersect had come online and didn't work nearly as quickly as Chuck did. Sure, they still used the machine, but its inefficiency had been enough to convince the two agencies to make the termination order for Chuck go quietly into the night.

By the time Chuck got off the phone, he had to get in the shower. He and Sarah were expected at Ellie and Devin's that night for dinner – apparently Ellie had some news to share with them. _I wonder_, thought Sarah.

She was unable to resist joining Chuck in the shower. She considered mentioning it to him then, but found herself… otherwise occupied.

They arrived at the apartment in Echo Park just before seven. "At some point, I do need to finish moving my stuff out of this apartment," Chuck remarked.

"Yes, yes you do," Sarah agreed, not adding, _But you might want to wait a month or two._

Devin outdid himself for dinner. It was a simple meal of steak, baked potatoes, and spinach salad, but he somehow did it all in a truly, well, awesome fashion.

However, when Devin offered Sarah a glass of wine, she turned it down. Despite the fact that she'd been assured that a glass of wine here and there would be okay, she was still a little paranoid. Fetal alcohol syndrome was not something she even wanted to tempt.

Devin gave her a strange look. "It's a 1985 cabernet, Sarah," he said. "You usually drink this stuff like water!"

Sarah gave him a dirty look. Chuck tried to conceal a laugh and failed. For his troubles, he got a kick under the table.

"None for you, right, Ellie?" Devin asked his wife. She nodded her confirmation.

And that's when Sarah knew that Ellie's news was exactly what she had suspected earlier. She looked up and made eye contact with the older woman, the question evident in her eyes. Ellie nodded, and when she did, Sarah nodded too, causing a huge smile to break out on Ellie's face.

Devin's eyes went wide. He looked at Ellie, then at Sarah. "No WAY," he uttered.

Chuck, for his vaunted Intersect-enabling powers of observation, was surprisingly oblivious. "What?" he asked.

Devin raised an eyebrow. "Uh, Chuck, I think there's a good chance that our family is about to get a bit more, uh, AWESOME, even more so than I was already expecting."

Chuck turned to look at his sister. "Ellie, are you…" His voice trailed off, his mouth hanging open.

"When, Ellie?" Sarah asked.

"October 29th," Ellie replied. "What about you?"

"November 25th." Sarah couldn't help but smile as she broke the news.

Chuck's head very slowly swiveled back around toward his wife. Sarah could almost see the pieces clicking into place in his mind as he finally realized what was going on.

That's when his eyes rolled back in his head. At first, Sarah thought he was having a flash, though God knew what of. Then, however, he slid out of his chair and slumped to the floor.

He had passed out.

Devin quickly rounded the table. He picked Chuck up under his armpits and set him back in his chair. He gently smacked Chuck on his left cheek, waking him up.

"Dude, you okay?" he asked.

"Yeah, I'm alright," Chuck replied weakly. "Sarah… did you just tell us all that you're pregnant?"

She smiled again. "Yes, I am," she said. "I'm due November 25th."

Chuck's face slowly went from an expression of shock to an enormous smile. "I'm gonna be a father," he whispered.

He stood up from his chair, and lifted Sarah from hers. As he embraced her, a tear slowly slid down her cheek – but it was a tear of happiness. "We're gonna have a kid," he said softly.

"Yes we are," she replied happily.


	5. Month Four

For the first trimester of her pregnancy, Sarah Walker Bartowski had been fairly lucky – at least, that's what other women thought. It seemed that the only outward sign of her pregnancy was the fact that "her funbags have a little more boom-boom to them," a very drunken Jeff had explained to Chuck right before Chuck had to be physically restrained by Casey and Devin from punching Jeff out.

That had been one week before. But over the past week, Sarah had gone from no-show to very-much-show. In fact, in that week, she had developed more of a belly than Ellie Woodcomb – a fact which concerned Chuck's sister just a bit.

"I'm worried about Sarah," Ellie said to Devin one night as they were getting ready for bed.

"Babe! What's the worry? The Chuckster's a more than awesome husband – you saw him at the release party for his game, he was more than ready to take down that douchebag Jeff."

"No, it doesn't have anything to do with Chuck," Ellie replied. "It's just that she's already bigger than I am, and she's a full month behind me."

Devin looked at her. "You don't think there's a problem, do you?"

"I don't know, Devin. There could be any number of factors. It could be something as simple as just extra weight, but it could be something really bad, like a tumor."

"It could also be twins, babe."

"Devin, there is, that I know of, absolutely no history of multiple childbirths in the Bartowski family."

"Yeah, but what about Sarah's family? I mean, think about it, Ellie. We know nothing about her past. We don't even know her real name."

"That's true," Ellie admitted, considering the secrecy that Sarah still had to maintain about herself, even though she hadn't been a field operative in over a year. "Still, though, I can't help but worry, since she's my friend, and my sister-in-law."

"And that, my dear Eleanor, is why they don't let us practice medicine on our family members."

Ellie smiled. "But Dr. Woodcomb, I think I need a thorough examination."

Devin didn't have to be asked twice.

* * *

Sarah had an ultrasound scheduled for June 14th. "Are you kidding?" she had asked in disbelief. "That's my birthday!"

Well, it wasn't really, but it was the day she'd celebrated her birthday for the last eight years.

"I'm sorry, Agent Walker, but that's the only day I can get you in," Dr. Zinn replied. "You have to realize, you come to Cedars-Sinai, there's a long line of pregnant celebrities in front of you. For every hot-shit deep-cover Sarah Walker operative that comes through my door, there's five Angelina Jolies and Jessica Albas waiting to be examined.

"You might be protecting them and securing their future, but they're celebrities. I'm sorry."

And so, with great annoyance, Sarah had scheduled the ultrasound for June 14th. She told Chuck, who told Ellie, who called Sarah and asked if she could accompany her to the ultrasound.

"Yeah, I guess so," Sarah had said, puzzled. "I mean, we are family…"

"Of course," Ellie replied. "And I do want to see what my brother's offspring looks like!"

Ellie did not voice her concerns to Sarah, figuring that the younger woman had enough on her plate already as it was. But nonetheless, there they remained, in the back of her head.

On the morning of the 14th, Ellie picked Sarah up from the downtown hotel. The drive down Beverly Boulevard really wasn't that bad, although any drive from downtown Los Angeles to West Hollywood is always going to be somewhat of a nightmare. This just wasn't that much of one.

And so as Sarah lay on the bed in the exam room, she found that she was experiencing butterflies in her stomach. "This is ridiculous," she breathed quietly.

Despite how quiet Sarah was, Ellie still heard her. "What's that, Sarah? What's ridiculous?"

Sarah propped her up on her elbows. "I'm nervous," she replied. "I mean, here I am. I used to be one of the CIA's best agents. I've killed people, been chased around the world by terrorists, orchestrated the downfall of a government – and I'm nervous about getting an ultrasound."

She stopped. "You can't repeat any of that," she told Ellie.

Ellie smiled. "I understand. Let me give you a little bit from my end of things – the doctor's perspective. Bedside manner, if you will."

Sarah laughed. "It is perfectly normal to be nervous about something like this, even for a big bad CIA agent such as yourself," Ellie continued. "You're about to see, for the first time, a little piece of life that you and Chuck have created. It's another human being, growing inside you – you're responsible for it, you're giving it life."

Sarah didn't realize it, but her face had taken on a huge smile as Ellie had spoken those words. "I know," she said quietly. "I guess… I guess, I just can't wait, that's all."

Ellie smiled back. "Neither can I," she replied. "I've done so many ultrasounds in the last few years, but none compares to your own. Well, I guess seeing my sister-in-law's will come pretty close."

That's when the ultrasound tech entered the room. "Good morning, ladies," she said, a little too brightly for the two women who had both been told to swear off coffee. "My name is Janet, and you must be Sarah!"

"That's me," Sarah confirmed. Before Janet could say anything else, though, Ellie had stood.

"Can I speak to you for a moment, Janet?" she asked.

Janet frowned, but accompanied Ellie outside. "I'm sorry to drag you out of there. My name's Ellie Woodcomb. I'm a doctor at City of Angels, and Sarah Bartowski is my sister-in-law. I'm a little concerned about her pregnancy, because she has gotten, well, abnormally large for only being four months along."

It was all Janet could do not to roll her eyes. Another patient's overly-concerned relative with an MD. God save her from the doctoral medical community.

"Dr. Woodcomb," Janet said, trying to sound sincere, "I'm sure your sister-in-law is fine, and even if we do find anything wrong, she's in good hands – Dr. Zinn is one of the best."

Ellie nodded, still not convinced. Janet decided to just press on. Turning around, she went back into the exam room. Ellie followed.

Janet spread a rather uncomfortably cold gel on Sarah's stomach, and then, rather than using the sensor that Sarah had seen on _E.R._ and _Scrubs_, she placed what looked for all the world like a hairnet on Sarah's stomach. "What exactly is that?" Sarah asked.

"It's a next-generation ultrasound scanner," Janet explained. "It's based on sonar technology that was developed for use on submarines. It provides a high definition picture of what it scans – more like a video than a traditional ultrasound."

Ellie looked at Sarah. "No fair," the doctor whined. "I had an old ultrasound."

"That's City of Angels versus Cedars-Sinai, ma'am."

She turned the device on. Sarah felt small vibrations against her belly as the device sent out tiny, barely detectable pulses of sound. They returned rapidly to the computer, and within a moment began to develop a video image on the screen.

Despite the clarity and the high definition, Sarah really wasn't quite sure what she was seeing on the screen. "So… somebody explain this to me?"

Ellie's eyes had gone wide, and then an enormous smile appeared on her face. "Oh my goodness," she whispered.

She turned to face Sarah. "Sarah, I was a little concerned beforehand, because you had gotten so big so quickly – I thought there was a possibility that something might be wrong. But nothing's wrong. Nothing at all."

Sarah still didn't understand, and she was beginning to get a little exasperated. "What are you talking about, Ellie?"

But before Ellie could answer, she looked back over at the screen – just in time for there to be a little movement, and for it to become very clear to Sarah that she was carrying not one small child-to-be… but two.

Her eyes widened, and then filled with tears, as an expression of pure joy appeared on her face. "Twins?" she whispered.

Ellie just nodded, with a huge smile. "Congratulations, Mrs. Bartowski," the ultrasound tech said, unable to keep from smiling a little bit herself.

* * *

Chuck had gotten a call as he was leaving work, telling him to go to Ellie and Devin's apartment. Upon arriving there, he found his wife and his sister, both looking very happy.

"What's going on?" he asked. "You both look like you just swallowed canaries."

Ellie didn't say anything, except "Sit," as she pointed at the couch.

Chuck was confused, but he sat. Sarah walked across the room, put a DVD in the DVD player, and turned on the Woodcomb's huge hi-def TV that Morgan had sold them two years prior.

Chuck had no idea what he was watching for a moment, but then the words "Cedars-Sinai Hospital" appeared at the bottom of the screen. "This is your ultrasound, isn't it?" he asked Sarah, his eyes full of curiosity.

"Yes," she said, nodding. Then she pointed back to the screen.

Chuck watched for a moment, and then, his eyes widened too, just as Sarah's had, as the two fetuses moved apart and he realized just how many children were going to be added to his family.

He didn't say anything for a few minutes. When he finally spoke, he said, "Well, I guess it's time to start looking for a house."

Sarah and Ellie both stared at him. "What?!" Sarah said, incredulous. "You find out that we're going to have twins, and your first thought is that we're going to need a house?"

"Unless you want to raise our children in a hotel room," Chuck said, a perfectly serious expression on his face. "Of course, this means you're going to have to start driving the Magnum, too. No way two carseats will fit in the Porsche."

Sarah's jaw dropped. "I don't believe you –"

Chuck couldn't hold back anymore, and he started laughing. "I'm sorry," he gasped between laughs. "Are you kidding? I'm absolutely ecstatic."

And he stood up, literally picked Sarah up, and spun her around. "I can't believe we're going to have twins," he said. "It's absolutely amazing."

That's when an evil gleam appeared in his eyes. "I just wanted to mess with your mind a little."

Twenty minutes worth of lecture from his wife and sister later, Chuck decided that he would never, ever mess with a pregnant woman's mind again. But despite messing with his wife's mind, there was one thing that hadn't slipped his.

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry," he surrendered, holding up his hands. "But, if I may..."

He reached into his messenger bag - he still carried around a Buy More messenger bag, to the bewilderment of all - and pulled out a package wrapped in glossy black paper. "I did not forget my wife's birthday."

That pleased Sarah greatly, especially since she had somewhat forgotten about it herself, with all the excitement of the day. She took the package from Chuck, and unwrapped it.

It was a still from the ultrasound. The capture of the two babies, facing each other - the one from which Sarah had realized that she was having twins. It was framed in a sterling silver frame with little etchings of baby footprints and handprints all around it.

She turned to look at Chuck. "Not even I am that good a spy," she said. "How?"

Chuck had an admission to make. "Devin knows some people at Cedars, and he managed to get me the ultrasound tape. So yes, I had seen it before now."

Sarah didn't care. "I can't imagine anything better."


	6. Month Five

It was time to say good-bye to the hotel.

When Chuck said that it was time to start looking for a house after learning about the twins on the way, he had been absolutely right. It felt a little weird to Sarah, moving out of a hotel suite she'd been in for two and a half years, but she knew it had to be done.

And so, one Saturday afternoon in late June, she found herself driving to look at houses with Chuck. He had insisted on looking in the Valley, saying that it would be safer than the City and cheaper than the West Side. Sarah had run this past the analysts at the CIA, who had wholeheartedly concurred with the Los Angeles native's assessment.

They had just taken a left hand turn off of Moorpark Street onto St. Clair Avenue, headed south, to look at a house down by Valleyheart Drive. Chuck was casually looking at the houses on either side, when he saw a house with a FOR SALE sign out front just before Woodbridge Avenue, and stood on his brakes.

The big Dodge station wagon fishtailed to a stop in the middle of the street. "Chuck?" Sarah asked, concerned. "What's wrong?"

He didn't answer. His mouth was hanging open, as he pulled up to the house with the for sale sign and parked in the driveway.

Sarah got out and assessed the house. It looked nice enough – a ranch house, about fifty years old. The yard could use a little tending, but nice otherwise.

It was the price tag that got Sarah, though. Pulling one of the information sheets out of the tube on the sign post, she read over it.

"Uh, Chuck, 900,000 is a little above what we were aiming for," Sarah told him.

No response. "Chuck, are you okay?"

Chuck slowly turned to look at her. "Sarah, it's worth it."

"Chuck, that's almost half of what Activision paid you for that last game."

He fixed her with one of the most intense looks she had ever seen from him. He slowly approached her, and gently placed his hands on her shoulders. "Sarah," he whispered, almost reverently, "this is the house that Ellie and I grew up in."

Sarah was quiet for a minute. "Okay," she finally said.

So Chuck called the real estate agent listed on the sign. The agent was elated that somebody was interested in the house, and said he'd be there in just a few minutes – he was right around the corner.

True to his word, the agent was there five minutes later. He opened the house for them, and showed them in.

They entered into the living room. Off the living room to the right was the dining room, with the kitchen and laundry room behind it. Behind the living room was one bedroom; to the left of that bedroom was what was clearly the master bedroom and master bath, another bathroom, and a front bedroom that had been designed more as a sun room.

"This was my bedroom," Chuck said softly, standing in the middle of the room with his eyes closed. Sarah just watched him, amazed at the subtle change in him since entering the house.

"I think it would be perfect for the twins, with all the natural light," she said quietly.

He smiled. "I agree completely," he whispered.

With hardwood floors through most of the house, a deep purple pile carpet in the master bedroom, and a crystal clear pool in the backyard, it just seemed almost too good to be true. Sarah and Chuck agreed to offer 850,000 cash for it. The agent, hardly able to believe what he was hearing, said yes, absolutely.

The deal closed two weeks later, and they started working on the house the next day.

The day after the deal closed, Chuck, Casey, and Devin took a trip to Home Depot. Casey snorted derisively when Chuck picked out an assortment of pastel colors – blue, pink, green and yellow – for the twins' room, but nodded approvingly when he picked out a forest green and slate combination for his office.

With those paints and a number of others for the rest of the house, along with a 24-pack of beer, Devin and Chuck set to work initially on the living room, while Casey took several cans and disappeared through the door leading to the bedrooms. Four hours later, when neither Devin nor Chuck had seen Casey for quite some time and had, in fact, only heard evidence of his presence through the flushing of the hall toilet, they decided to investigate.

They discovered Casey, in the twins' bedroom, surrounded by an incredible tableau of pastel designs, rainbows, and psychedelic woodland creatures. "Holy…"

When Casey heard Chuck's voice, he looked up at the two other men. "I was an art major in college," he said, with no preamble. "And if either of you two tells anybody that I was responsible for this, I will rip out your colon with my bare hands."

A few days later, after all the paint had dried and the smells had mostly been ventilated, Chuck took Sarah to the house to see it. Her jaw dropped when they entered the twins' room. "Oh my God," she said. "This… is incredible."

Chuck smiled as he wrapped his arms around her and placed his hands on her ever-growing belly. "I'm not supposed to tell you this, but your favorite Neanderthal and mine painted it."

Sarah turned to Chuck, disbelief evident on her face. "Casey?!"

Chuck nodded. "I wouldn't have believed it either, except I saw him in action," he replied.

And so, that Saturday, when Casey arrived at the hotel to help Chuck and Sarah move, when Sarah answered the door, she didn't say anything – just hugged a very surprised Casey and kissed him on the cheek.

"Thank you," she said softly.

A vicious look quickly crossed his face, momentarily terrifying Chuck, who was standing behind Sarah. But then, Casey's face softened. "Got somethin' else for you," he grumbled.

He stepped out of the doorway, and half a dozen men in dark glasses, jeans, and collared white shirts stepped into the room. Moving swiftly, they began moving boxes from the room, and inside of fifteen minutes, the room was exactly as it had been when Sarah had moved in two and a half years before.

"And where did they take all our stuff, Casey?" Chuck wanted to know.

Casey just inclined his head, and they followed him – outside, downstairs, to the street, where a shiny black moving truck sat by the curb. Chuck looked at the license plate –

And an array of images bombarded him. Mostly of black moving trucks, of the movers dressed like he had just seen them, of a large number of guns loaded into said trucks, and of tiramisu.

Chuck shook his head when the flash ended. Always with the random dessert encodings. "So this is the NSA's private moving company, then?" he asked.

Casey turned to look at him. "The Intersect, I assume?"

Chuck nodded. "Yeah," Casey continued. "You know, I figured… well…"

He stiffened and cleared his throat. "At the risk of sounding weak, the two of you have become basically the closest thing I've had to family in years, and I wanted to do something for you."

Chuck and Sarah stood on the sidewalk, speechless. Casey took advantage of their momentary shock to hop up in the cab of the truck, which pulled away from the curb, followed by a black minivan.

"I don't believe it," Sarah whispered.

* * *

By the time Chuck and Sarah had settled accounts with the hotel and driven their two cars to the house in Studio City, there wasn't much left for them to do at the house. To their astonishment, Casey had had another truck sent to retrieve the remainder of Chuck's belongings from Ellie and Devin's apartment, and yet another sent to Ikea and Buy More to retrieve the furniture and "toys" that Chuck and Sarah had ordered for the house.

And the National Security Agency is nothing if not efficient. As a result, the house was almost completely ready to live in – and it had only been an hour and a half since the movers had arrived at the hotel in downtown L.A.

Chuck and Sarah had stood in the front yard with Ellie, Devin, and Morgan and looked on, astonished, as the fifteen NSA employees quickly and efficiently moved the Bartowskis into their new home. As they were working, another man, this one wearing a suit, walked out of the house and handed Chuck a business card.

"Courtesy of Bryce Larkin, sir," the man said.

Chuck looked at the card. _ADT Home Alarm Systems_, the card said. On the back was a code – obviously the arm/disarm code – and a note. _Keep the family safe, Chuck_, in Bryce's distinct handwriting.

Unfortunately, Morgan had overheard. "Bryce Larkin?" he asked. "Bryce Larkin's dead!"

Chuck sighed. "Morgan, maybe it's time for you to know a few things."

* * *

Several hours later, Morgan knew a great many things that he was never allowed to share with ANYBODY. He and Chuck had retired to his office, which Sarah had jokingly called "Chuck's Geek Room", to which he had indignantly responded, "It's the NERD CAVE!"

Sarah was relaxing in the living room, happy to spend time in the company of Casey, Ellie, and Devin in her own home, when her cell phone rang. The caller ID said it was Director Graham.

"I need to take this," she said, excusing herself. Stepping out into the kitchen, she answered the phone. "This is Walker, secure."

"Graham, secure," she heard from the other end. "I hear you're in your new house?"

"Yes, sir," she replied. "Major Casey arranged for the NSA to move us, and they had us completely moved in inside of two hours."

"They might be ruthless, but they sure are efficient," Graham said with a laugh. "God, Walker, you're married, you have two kids on the way, and you're living in your own house. If you tell me that it has a white picket fence –"

"No white picket fence, sir."

Graham laughed again. "Well, thank God for that. I'd hate to think that the Phantom of Belgrade had become completely domesticated."

Sarah's smile faded as she thought about the mission in Serbia, seven years before. "Not completely, sir, but pretty close."

Graham was quiet for a moment. "Anyway, Walker, the purpose of my call is to tell you that I'm resigning."

Now THAT was a bit of a shock. "I've decided to run for the US Senate," he continued. "I'm going back home – North Carolina. Richard Burr's up for re-election this year, and he's looking pretty weak. I'm a well-respected black Independent with plenty of government experience – I'm pretty sure I can pull it right out from under him."

"Well, sir, just say the word, and I'm sure that Chuck or I would be happy to help you out however we can."

"I appreciate that, Agent Walker. And I appreciate your fairly loyal and devoted service over the last eight years."

"'Fairly' loyal, sir?" she asked with a laugh.

"Well, there was a certain incident in Utah," Graham replied. "I seem to recall getting locked in a broom closet?"

Sarah reddened at the memory of Chuck's rescue from the secure facility in Moab, Utah. "Sorry about that, sir."

He chuckled. "No hard feelings. Anyway, I should let you get back to your family. Say hello to your husband for me, and to Colonel Casey."

"Major Casey, sir."

"No, he got promoted a week ago."

When Sarah got off the phone, she grabbed Chuck and Morgan from the Nerd Cave, and dragged them out to the living room. "I think John has something to tell us all," she said, looking him square in the eyes.

He looked right back at her, and his jaw dropped. "How the hell…"

She smiled. "I may be a five months' pregnant CIA analyst, but once upon a time, I was the best of the best when it came to spies, Johnny boy."


	7. Month Six

It was Monday morning.

Yet another Monday when Sarah had to go sit in a goddamn office chair at a goddamn desk in a goddamn office in a goddamn federal building in this goddamn city! She had a nicer goddamn office when she was a goddamn deep-cover operative working out of goddamn Langley!

"I counted eight 'goddamns' there," Chuck quipped, as she poured her goddamn decaf coffee down the goddamn sink. She couldn't stand the goddamn stuff anymore. There was no goddamn caffeine, so what was the goddamn point?

With a dirty look at Chuck, she whirled and stormed out the kitchen door, into the garage. She yanked open the door of her Porsche, and tried to slide behind the wheel. Tried, and failed.

"No," she hissed. "NO!"

She reached down, lifted the bar under the seat to slide it back – but the seat was back as far as it would go. She tilted the wheel up as far as it would go – but it was no use. Her six-and-a-half-months-pregnant-with-twins self just wasn't going to fit in the Porsche.

"What the fuck!" she wailed in protest. "I fit on Friday!"

Just as she was about to mercilessly beat the helpless 911, Chuck walked through the garage door, having heard her from the kitchen. He looked at her for a moment, and wisely, said nothing, except, "Do you want to take my car to work?"

"No!" she snapped. "I want to drive my goddamn Porsche!"

But even as she pouted, she realized that it was hopeless. She wouldn't be driving the Porsche again until after she gave birth – and even then, who knew how much. It was like Chuck had said two months beforehand – there would be no fitting two carseats in the Porsche.

Chuck walked around the front end of his Dodge to her. Hugging her as closely as he could with the two not-quite-infants growing between them, he rubbed her back gently. She rested her head on his shoulder and let tears of frustration come out and soak his shoulder.

After a moment, he quietly said, "You keep that up much longer and I'm going to have to go change my shirt." She couldn't help but laugh at that.

He stepped back. "Listen," he said. "I know you're frustrated. But I still love you. I think you're beautiful. You're giving life to our two beautiful children. And no stupid German car will ever change that."

She smiled. "But you're still going to enjoy driving my stupid German car to work, aren't you?"

He shrugged. "Well, I suppose I can suffer through it…"

Laughing, she punched him in the shoulder, and then switched keys, handing him the keys to her precious Porsche and taking the keys to his stupid station wagon. He took the keys to the Porsche like a precious jewel – but he treated it like anything but.

He started the 911 up, backed out of the driveway WAY too quickly, and then laid a strip of rubber twenty feet long as he accelerated down Saint Clair Avenue. Sarah gritted her teeth. "We'll be having a little talk about THAT later," she muttered to herself.

She walked around the front of the Magnum, unlocked it, and climbed into the driver's seat. Plenty of room in here. Hell, it was probably the better option for her to be driving. It was bigger, it had more safety options, and it scored a HELL of a lot better in federal highway tests than her Porsche EVER had. Besides that, in the unlikely event that one of her old enemies came looking for her, it had a 372 cubic inch Hemi V-8 under the hood which could crank out 425 horsepower. If it really came down to it.

As she was backing the Beast out of the garage though, a thought occurred to her – she really DIDN'T want to go to work today. So, she called the CIA office at the downtown federal building and told them that she was sick. Since she was six and a half months pregnant, they didn't say a single word.

Sarah started driving. She didn't know where she was going, but pretty quickly, found herself on the 101, headed toward downtown Los Angeles. Out of force of habit, she got off at Alvarado, and before she realized it, found herself turning off of Sunset onto Laveta Terrace – headed toward Ellie and Devin's apartment.

She pulled the Magnum to a stop in front of the apartment complex, got out, and headed toward Ellie's apartment. As she crossed the courtyard, John Casey stepped out of his apartment. Despite his promotion to Lieutenant Colonel, he was still assigned to Team Chuck, and he was still working at the Buy More for his cover.

"Well, well," he sniggered, as Sarah crossed the courtyard. "Look out, wide load coming through!"

At no time in his life could Casey have said something that would be more the wrong thing than that. Sarah, moving surprisingly quickly for her stage of pregnancy, stepped toward him, whipping out her stun gun.

Within three seconds of his ill-advised joke, the NSA agent was lying on the ground, twitching. He looked up at Sarah.

"Sorry…" he whispered.

"I will END you," she grated back at him, holstering her stun gun and giving him a swift kick to the side. She watched in satisfaction as he rolled over on that side, clutching it in pain.

Sarah walked the last few steps to Ellie's apartment, and rang the doorbell. A moment later, a bleary-eyed Ellie Woodcomb, no makeup on, hair still mussed from sleep, and a belly almost as big as Sarah's, answered the door.

"Well, if it isn't my comrade in gestation," Ellie said sleepily. "Good morning, or maybe just morning, since I can't drink coffee anymore."

"Isn't it a bitch?" Sarah grumbled in agreement, entering the apartment. As she stepped in, Ellie looked out into the courtyard.

"John? Are you okay?"

Casey, picking himself up off the pavement, didn't trust himself to say anything, and just waved.

Ellie turned around and shut the door, inviting Sarah to take a seat in the living room. "So, what brings you here this morning?"

"I can't fit in my Porsche anymore," Sarah complained. "It's not fair. I paid good money – okay, the CIA paid good money for it, and now your brother's out zipping around in it, while I'm driving around in a station wagon."

"I know how you feel," Ellie commiserated. "Devin insisted that we switch cars about a month ago. He said it was safer for me to be driving the Escape. I think he just wanted a crack at my G6."

"Men," Sarah said disgustedly. Ellie snorted in agreement.

They both fell silent, but after a minute, found that both their sets of eyes had wandered longingly to the wine rack that was strictly off-limits to them. "I've never had a craving for a drink at 9:30 in the morning before," Ellie said quietly.

"Yeah," Sarah agreed. "I'm about ready to be done with this."

"Do you ever wish it would be over, and the baby would just be out of you now?" Ellie asked.

"From time to time," Sarah admitted. "Usually at 2:00 or 3:00 in the morning, when they're having a boxing match."

"Oh, God, yes," Ellie said. "That's got to be horrible sometimes, with twins."

"Well, yes, and no," Sarah said. "I mean, yeah, I don't get as much sleep as I'd like, but still… every so often, just feeling them gently kick… there's just something about that."

"True," Ellie replied with a smile and a nod. Then she stood up to go to the kitchen for – something… and made the mistake of looking in the mirror as she did so.

"Oh God, I look like a monster!" she wailed.

"No, Ellie, you don't," Sarah said, carefully getting up to comfort the older woman. Then she caught a glimpse of Ellie in the mirror. With no makeup and bedhead, she really didn't look that great.

Then Sarah took a closer look at herself. "I look like a beach ball!" she moaned.

"Why, why, WHY do our bodies betray us like this?" Ellie groaned.

Sarah gritted her teeth. "It's times like this that I really, REALLY wish I could go to the shooting range."

"Can't," Ellie said. "The sounds can harm the babies."

"I know that," Sarah replied. "But still, I – wait a second."

She had just had a flash of inspiration. She pulled out her phone and dialed a number.

A moment later, a laconic voice answered. "Glendale Police. Anderson."

"Gilbert, this is Sarah Walker," she said.

"Agent Walker."

"Can you do me a favor, set up the paintball target range? Have it ready around, say 10:15?"

"Ten-four." And then he hung up.

Sarah looked at Ellie with a gleam in her eye. "Ellie, go get dressed. We're going to go take out some aggression."

* * *

At 10:10, the Dodge Magnum pulled into the parking lot of the Glendale Police Department, on Isabel Street just north of Broadway.

Sarah led Ellie inside. "I need to see Detective Anderson," she said to the sergeant on duty. "He's expecting me."

A few minutes later, Detective Gilbert Anderson, Glendale PD, was showing them back to the mock shooting range in the back of the station. "We use guns that fire paintballs with compressed air in here," he explained. "No noise to damage your babies, which is your concern, I assume?"

Sarah nodded. "Always treat them like real guns. Don't ever point them at each other, and don't point them anywhere but the ground unless you plan to fire them."

And with that, he slapped a Glock G31 into Ellie's hand and departed. "That's a .357 caliber gun," Sarah told her. "In a real life situation, you could put a cartridge in that that would kill a man with no problem whatsoever."

She could see the distaste on Ellie's face, as the doctor thought about the ramifications of that. "But, we're just firing harmless paintballs at metal targets," Sarah added hastily. Ellie still looked a little disgusted, but not as much as she had been.

Sarah turned to the gun rack, and selected her personal favorite – a Colt 1911A1. She slapped in a loaded clip, and made sure the CO2 cartridge was properly attached. Turning downrange, she hit the target button, and the target popped up. Sarah shot quickly, the paintball gun making odd little pops, and a second later, her clip was empty. She hit the button again, and the target approached them.

"Wow," Ellie said, clearly impressed at the eight pink dots on the target's heart and the one on its forehead.

"You give it a shot," Sarah said.

"Uh, okay," Ellie replied, not very sure of herself. Sarah hit the target button, and it popped up. Ellie fired, not as quickly or as surely as Sarah, but when Sarah brought the target downrange, it was clear that Ellie's aim was pretty good.

"Not bad," Sarah said approvingly, noticing that four of Ellie's shots had been inside the X-ring. "Let's do some more."

They both loaded another clip, and fired some more. This went on for about half an hour, with Ellie's aim markedly improving as they continued.

Then Sarah had an idea. Turning behind her, she picked up the range phone. "Gilbert," she said a moment later, "I need you to do me a favor. Load up surveillance photos of Charles Irving Bartowski and Devin Lawrence Woodcomb, and then project them on the targets – Bartowski on the left, Woodcomb on the right. Okay?"

She hung up the phone and turned back to Ellie. Ellie had a rather amused look on her face. "Target practice on our husbands?" she asked.

"Why not," Sarah replied. "It's their fault we're in this condition."

"Well, as a doctor, I should say it's both parties' faults equally," Ellie answered her, "but I think I'm gonna go with you and say it's his fault."

Sarah started laughing. She never realized just how much she enjoyed spending time with Ellie until now.

That's when the pictures of their husbands popped up on the targets. Ellie's eyes narrowed as she picked up the Glock, loaded a new clip, and advanced to the firing line. When Sarah reached the firing line, they looked at each other. Sarah nodded, and they both turned their faces forward.

Within three seconds, both of the women had emptied their clips. Sarah hit the button to bring the targets forward – and as they got closer, both women started laughing hysterically.

Chuck and Devin's crotches were covered in pink paint.


	8. Month Seven

It was a big day for the Bartowski family. A very big day.

Seven months before, Chuck had sold the video game "Mindnode" to Electronic Arts. Its premise was very familiar – an unsuspecting individual gets a large government database accidentally downloaded into his head and has to use the information to help two government agents take down bad guys – although he'd mixed it up a little, and used a CIA agent and a British MI-6 agent instead of an NSA agent.

When John Casey had heard about it, he had said, "I'd call it plagiarism, except you're only plagiarizing yourself. How dare you."

Nonetheless, Electronic Arts had paid Chuck six hundred thousand dollars for the game, enough for him and Morgan to form the start-up Nerd Cave Video Games. Five months later, they had turned around and sold another game to Activision for two million dollars.

The first game, though, was being released to the public tomorrow – Tuesday, September 21st, 2010. However, E.A. had offered Chuck the chance to have a big release party for it the day before, at the location of his choice.

Because Chuck was a rather loyal person, he had chosen the Buy More in Burbank to hold the release party. Needless to say, Big Mike was ecstatic, though his employees were less than thrilled at the extra work that they had to put in to get the store ready.

Of course, Electronic Arts decided that they were going to make it a big red carpet event. They invited in the actors that they had had do voices for the game – Lee Pace as the civilian, Kristen Bell as the CIA agent, and Gareth David-Lloyd as the MI-6 agent.

When Sarah found out about all that – and especially about David-Lloyd, who she'd had somewhat of a celebrity crush on since meeting him at Comic-Con two years before – she had told Chuck that there was no way in hell they were going to show up in the Beast. "You're the creator of this game," she insisted, "and there will be famous people on hand. We are taking the Porsche."

"I'll have to drive," he warned her.

"I am painfully aware of that."

Unfortunately, all of Sarah's formal wear was designed for a woman who was NOT seven months pregnant with twins. She complained about it one night to Chuck and Devin one night, who were busy watching the Lakers get their asses kicked by the Phoenix Suns.

She hadn't even thought they were listening, but the next morning, a very haughty woman with a measuring tape had shown up at the front door of the house, ordered Sarah to stick her arms out, and had taken several measurements. The morning after that, a delivery driver had dropped off an incredible dress.

The dress was made of a cloth that made Sarah's skin tingle when she touched it. Forest green with very subtle grey accents, it fit Sarah like a glove, but when she saw the "Oscar de la Renta" tag on the bag, she had just about had a heart attack. Of course, that was before she saw the attached note.

_Knock 'em dead, kid_, it said. It was signed, _Art Graham_.

She smiled and shook her head. Leave it to Chuck to contact the former CIA director about something like that.

And so, at 11:00 AM on Monday the 20th, Sarah's Porsche 911 rolled up to the red carpet in front of the Buy More at the Empire Power Center in Burbank. A white gloved valet opened her door, while Chuck, looking fantastic – _AS ALWAYS, the bastard_, she though – in a tuxedo, jumped out and ran around to help her out.

They had gotten maybe five feet down the carpet toward the front door of the Buy More when an obnoxiously perky reporter popped in front of them. "Kristin Dos Santos, E! News!" she announced. They both stopped, Sarah blowing out her breath and rolling her eyes. Then she saw the camera.

_Oh, Jesus H. Christ_.

"So, Mr. Bartowski, what was the inspiration for your video game?"

Sarah's breath caught in her chest. What the hell was Chuck going to say to that?

"What can I say," he answered smoothly. "It just came to me one day. I have to give one of my college buddies a little credit for it – he sent me an e-mail, and as I was reading it, well, it just sort of popped into my head."

Sarah smiled and tried not to laugh. To think that Chuck had just told this woman EXACTLY what had happened, and yet, she had no idea.

"And you must be Mrs. Bartowski!" Dos Santos said.

"Sarah," she replied. "Please."

"Well, it looks like you're gonna be adding to your family pretty soon – you look just about ready to pop!"

_Lord, give me patience_, Sarah thought, eyeing the woman's neck and wondering how much pressure she'd have to apply to knock her out. "Still got about another two months – twins," Sarah said.

Kristin Dos Santos was about to ask Chuck another question, but he'd spotted Kristen Bell, and was suddenly dragging Sarah off that direction. Sarah couldn't help but laugh as the entertainment "reporter" was left in their dust, mouth gaping open like a beached fish.

The event went quite well, although about an hour into it, Sarah suddenly found herself having to use the restroom about every fifteen minutes. It was not pleasant – first of all, she hated public restrooms. Secondly, there was quite the line. Third – and this was most definitely the worst part of her day – she discovered that it was quite impossible for her to shut the door behind her in the Buy More's normal stalls, and ended up having to use the handicapped stall every single time.

When she came out of the restroom after the fourth time with a look of murderous rage on her face, Chuck quickly got up from the table. "Uh, Big Mike," he said, approaching his former boss. "Do you think I could get the key to the employee restroom and give it to Sarah? She's having to use the restroom pretty regularly here, and I think she might go set the Large Mart on fire if she has to use the restroom here one more time."

"Yeah, no problem," Big Mike replied. "LESTER!"

Lester came scurrying over – dressed in a yellow polo? "When the hell did you get promoted to assistant manager?" Chuck asked, incredulous.

"Not too long back," Lester replied.

"He ain't lived up to his potential yet," Big Mike grumbled.

"Come on, Big Mike, I had to follow Harry Tang and this taskmaster," Lester complained, indicating Chuck.

"Yeah, well, tough," Big Mike replied. "You're gettin' paid the same that they did, I expect the same level of work. Gimme the key to the employee restroom."

"What?"

"Mrs. Bartowski needs a restroom she can go to where she doesn't have to stand in line with all these other people."

Lester's face took on a comical look of horror. "Wait a second," he replied. "That means I have to go urinate with the common folk!"

Chuck rolled his eyes as Big Mike handed him the key to the employee restroom. "Don't forget to return it, Bartowski!"

"Yes, sir, Big Mike," Chuck replied – and then mentally smacked himself. He hadn't worked here for seven months, and yet he was still calling Big Mike "sir".

He walked back to Sarah and handed her the key. "It's the employee restroom," he told her. "Probably cleaner than the public ones, no line."

She smiled. A year and a half they'd been married, and Chuck still took it upon himself to do all those little things that made her fall in love with him in the first place. "Thank you."

Sarah stood and headed off toward the employee restroom. Chuck tried not to shake his head as she walked away.

"Excuse me, are you Chuck Bartowski?"

Chuck turned his head to the right – and stood up so fast that he knocked his chair over. "Jesus Christ! I mean, George Clooney!"

Clooney smiled. "Not quite the first time, but right the second."

"Wow!" Chuck gasped. "I mean, I can't believe you're here, at the release party for my game!"

"Well, I came because it occurs to me that this would make a fantastic movie," Clooney replied. "I wanted to talk to you about that possibility."

Chuck rested his chin on his hand. "You… want to turn my game into a movie?"

"Yeah," Clooney answered. "I figure, use Lee Pace, Kristen Bell, Gareth David-Lloyd in the starring roles – bit of continuity from the game."

"Wow," Chuck said again. "Um, there's people who I need to speak with…"

Just then, Sarah returned from the bathroom. "Uh, Sarah, this is George Clooney," Chuck said. "This is my wife, Sarah Bartowski."

"Pleasure to meet you," he said, taking the hand of a very shocked Sarah. "I was just talking to your husband about the possibility of turning the game into a feature film."

Sarah's right eyebrow went up. "Uh… Chuck, can I talk to you for a moment?"

He nodded. "I'll give you two a minute," Clooney said, and walked off, calling Lee Pace's name as he went.

"Do you think the CIA will go for it?" Chuck asked Sarah.

She blew her breath out slowly. "I really don't know," she said. "I could've gotten Director Graham to sign off on it, but I don't know about this new director, Sam Tyler… he seems like a bit of a hardass."

"What about the NSA?"

"I'm sure Casey can grease the skids some, but they're gonna be even more difficult."

Chuck sighed. "Come on. They let me release the video game. I don't think I'd even be involved with the movie, except like as a producer or something."

"I just don't know," Sarah said.

Clooney returned then. "So…"

"Let's go for it," Chuck said, to Sarah's surprise.

"Great!" Clooney said, his face breaking into a smile. "Why don't you give me your card… and I'll have my people at Section 8 contact you."

Chuck smiled back. "Sounds good," he replied, reaching into his jacket and pulling out a Nerd Cave business card.

Clooney took the card, shook Chuck's hand, and walked off again. "Are you out of your mind?" Sarah asked angrily.

"I believe that I have given enough to the government that they owe me," Chuck replied.

"Yeah, well, what about me?" Sarah said. "I'm your WIFE and you didn't listen to a word I said!"

That one stopped Chuck short. "I… I really thought you'd be okay with it," he answered. "I mean, you've always…"

His face fell. "I'm sorry… I mean, he's right over there, I can go tell him no…"

And then he turned the puppy dog eyes on her. The expression that invariably ended up with Sarah either 1) acceding to his request, 2) getting naked, or 3) both. "That's foul play, Chuck," she grumbled.

A little bit of a smile broke out on his face. "Oh, ALRIGHT," she sighed. "I'll make it work with the agencies."

"Have I told you lately how much I love you?" he asked, the smile turning huge.

She shook her head, smiling ruefully. "No, but you can show me by going over to Large Mart and getting me the biggest bottle of water they have. Nobody told me that pregnancy was going to end up with more water coming out of me than I can take in at once."

"Okay, seriously, too much information," Chuck informed her, standing.

Five minutes later, he was back, handing her a liter bottle of Arrowhead water. "That big enough for you?"

"Mmm-hmmm," she replied, as she sucked it down like a camel just come out of the desert after two months.

She stood up to stretch out her back, and walked across the store, drinking the water. Morgan came up behind Chuck, watching Sarah suck the water down in disbelief. "That's just unnatural," he uttered.

Chuck's face immediately went from curious to pissed-off. He slowly turned his head toward Morgan, and said, "If you ever talk about my wife that way again, I will put a deadbolt on the Morgan Door."

Because yes, there was indeed a Morgan Door on the house in Studio City.


	9. Month Eight

Dr. Ronald Zinn leaned back in his chair, and looked across the office at the two people facing him – both CIA analysts, or so he'd been led to understand in the husband's case. She was a former deep-cover operative who'd made the mistake of falling in love.

And now, there was potential for a very large complication.

"Agent Walker, Mr. Bartowski," he began, "I'm seeing some things here, warning signs, that I really don't like the looks of. We need to take preventative measures immediately, or there may be complications."

Sarah's face went white and Chuck's eyes widened at the sound of that. "What do you mean, complications?" she asked.

"I mean, I'm seeing a disturbing amount of damage to the tissues around your uterine walls, and I'm concerned that you might go into labor prematurely," Dr. Zinn replied. "I've been over your records, and I think it's a result of injuries you suffered in the plane crash in 2006, and then again when you were shot in 2008."

Chuck looked at Sarah. "What plane crash?"

"I'll tell you later," she replied.

"I'm also concerned about complications that might arise if you give birth naturally," Dr. Zinn continued. "Even though you're a tall woman, your abdominal cavity is not very large. Those two fetuses are in very close quarters in there, and I'm concerned about possible entanglement of their umbilical cords during childbirth.

"So, I want to schedule you for a Caesarean section," he finished. "Your due date is November 25th, so let's set it for five days before that – the 20th."

He took a deep breath. She wasn't going to like the next thing he had to say. "Now, as far as preventative measures go, I'm going to confine you to sixteen hours-per-day bed rest."

"What?!" Sarah objected. "Sixteen hours a day in bed?!"

Dr. Zinn nodded. "That'll give you eight hours a day to do with as you please, though I'd prefer it if you spent as much of that time as possible seated, and no more than four hours a day at the CIA's offices."

Sarah turned to Chuck. "You're not going to agree with him on this, are you?"

Chuck raised his hands. "I am so not going to argue with a man who has an MD on what measures we need to take to keep you and our children healthy."

That answer did not appease Sarah. "Look," Chuck said softly, taking her hands in his. "You know that there's nothing, nobody in this world I love more than you. In a month and a half, you 

and I are going to be the parents of two beautiful children. But I want them to be healthy, and I don't want anything to happen to you. Please, please, just listen to what Dr. Zinn says."

"Thank you, Mr. Bartowski," Dr. Zinn said, as Sarah closed her eyes and nodded. "Now, since this hasn't been discussed yet – for whatever reasons – do you want to know what gender they're going to be?"

"No," Sarah said, just as Chuck emphatically said, "Yes!"

They looked at each other. "No!" Sarah insisted.

"Come on, Sarah!" Chuck replied. "I want to know so badly it's not even funny!"

Dr. Zinn started laughing. "Okay, how about this. I'll go out in the hallway with you, Mr. Bartowski, and tell you."

Sarah glared at Chuck. "Just remember, buster, I still know over a hundred ways to kill you."

Chuck rolled his eyes and laughed. "Yeah, yeah. I'm not that stupid."

The two men left the room, and came back two minutes later. Chuck had a grin on his face that stretched from ear to ear. "Are you SURE you don't want to know?"

Sarah looked at him, and then smiled slightly. "Number one," she said. "Gun."

Chuck laughed, remembering that day at Pacific Park, more than two and a half years before. "Number two," he replied. "Knife."

Sarah started to laugh, and Chuck leaned down and kissed her.

"Oh, one more thing," Dr. Zinn said. "I want you to avoid sexual intercourse the rest of the way."

Chuck leaned back, as a look of murder grew on Sarah's face. The release had been one of the things keeping her sane.

"What?" she growled. "Are you KIDDING me?"

"I'm sorry," Dr. Zinn replied, "but I just think there's too much of a risk. No sex."

Sarah took a deep breath, keeping her temper in check. "Fine," she finally spat out. "Am I still allowed to… um, take care of things myself?"

Dr. Zinn shrugged. "I don't see why not. Just keep it in check. I don't want you flooding your body with hormones and adrenaline on a regular basis."

Sarah sighed. This last month and a half was going to take forever.

* * *

That afternoon, when they got home, Chuck went out of his way to make sure that Sarah would be comfortable for the last month and a half. He called the Buy More, and asked them to deliver a few things to the house. Two hours later, a Buy More delivery truck pulled up to the house, John Casey at the wheel.

Chuck and Casey unloaded a 42" plasma screen TV, which went directly to the bedroom, where they mounted it facing the bed. A mini-fridge was unloaded – that went next to the bed. Sarah would not be lacking for cold water while stuck in bed.

A one-hundred disc DVD changer and a small 5.1 channel sound system were then hooked up to the TV. Chuck loaded the DVD player with several sets of TV shows – all the discs from every season of _Firefly_, _Friends_, and _Scrubs_, plus a handful of movies – _Back to the Future_, _Gone in Sixty Seconds_, _The Matrix_, _Moulin Rouge_, _Ocean's Eleven_, _Office Space_, _Serenity_, _Star Trek IV_, _Star Wars_, and _Superman Returns_. To top it all off, he loaded in CDs of the Rolling Stones entire catalog.

"Okay, how did you find out about that?" Sarah asked him. She never had gotten around to telling Chuck that the Rolling Stones were her favorite band.

"Fair trade," he replied. "You tell me about the plane crash, and I'll tell you how I found out."

Sarah sighed. "Alright," she replied. "You remember, back in July of 2006, when Israel and Lebanon went to each other's throats, because Hizbollah got crazy?"

"Yeah, of course," Chuck said. "I thought the entire Middle East was going to explode."

"Well," Sarah continued, "Bryce and I were sent over there as observers. While we were there, we took a trip to the border, and we started getting shot at. The Hummer we were in was equipped with several light anti-tank missiles, so I popped up through the turret, and fired one at the van that was firing on us.

"Turned out that that van contained a Hizbollah commander, and the people around it managed to get a picture of me. They put a ten thousand Euro bounty on my head. The Mossad insisted that I get out of the country right then, and we almost didn't make it – the Hummer and our driver were blown up two minutes after we boarded the plane.

"On final approach to Reagan National Airport, a sleeper terrorist fired a Stinger missile at the Learjet we were in. It blew off the port engine, and our plane almost crashed into the Jefferson Memorial."

Chuck's eyes went wide. "I remember seeing that on the news!" he exclaimed. "That was YOU?!"

Sarah nodded. "I was pretty banged up, but it could've been a lot worse. Hizbollah actually sent in a strike team to finish the job, but an anonymous guy, who Bryce was pretty sure was the sleeper himself, having an attack of conscience, came roaring up in this old Pontiac GTO, and pretty much saved the day."

Chuck shook his head. "Unbelievable," he uttered. Then it dawned on him. "The day we left for our honeymoon," he said, "and you talked about being chased halfway around the world by terrorists – that's what you were talking about, isn't it?"

Sarah didn't say anything, just nodded her head.

"Wow," Chuck whispered. "I married the female James Bond."

Sarah laughed at that one. "Okay, now fair's fair," she said. "How'd you know about the Rolling Stones?"

"Bryce told me," Chuck replied. "He told me once that he really regretted not paying closer attention to the little things in your relationship, and he didn't want me to make the same mistakes."

Sarah smiled and shook her head. "Let me tell you something, Chuck. You have done a FAR better job of paying attention to the little things than Bryce EVER did."

He smiled back. "Well, I'm pretty sure I got the better deal between him and me – he's still out hunting down Fulcrum, and here I sit, in a house in Studio City, married to you, with our two kids on the way."

* * *

Despite the small things, despite everything Chuck did to make Sarah comfortable, the sixteen hours a day bed rest was still miserable. She ended up having to spend four hours every weekday downtown, doing CIA analysis work.

She dedicated a fair part of her little remaining time to shopping for baby clothes. Of course, she didn't know what gender the two were going to be – but Ellie did. Chuck had told her, so Ellie made sure to go shopping with Sarah.

Of course, one day it happened – they were at Topanga Plaza, looking in incredulity at the price tags on baby clothes at Neiman Marcus, when Ellie's water broke. Her eyes widened. "Oh, shit."

As the Beast went flying north on Topanga Canyon Boulevard and then east on Roscoe Boulevard, racing toward Northridge Medical Center, one very pregnant woman at the wheel and another going into labor in the shotgun seat, Sarah called Chuck.

"You better get to Roscoe and Reseda QUICK," she ordered him. "Ellie's baby's on the way!"


	10. Month Nine

They were counting down the days now. It was November – not too long to go until the Caesarean. Just a few days until Chuck and Sarah would be the parents of two wee small children.

Sarah had initially hated the sixteen hours-a-day bed rest. However, as the pregnancy got closer and closer to its end, she was appreciating it more and more. Her body had taken a beating over the course of the last nine months – she was tall, but she had always had a slim frame, so her back was just about shot to hell.

Her muscle tone was shot – something she intended to rectify as soon as her doctor gave his blessing. It took far more effort than she really liked to exert to do things as simple as getting up to go to the bathroom, showering, eating. The drive to the federal building had become an onerous task, and quite frankly, she was sick of being there for four hours looking at documents that she was having trouble concentrating on anyway.

And so, on November 1st, she had informed the CIA that she was beginning her maternity leave early. They had had no problem with that, though Sam Tyler, the new Director, seemed to get his nose bent out of shape a little over it.

The next day, November 2nd, Sarah had spent the day doing something she hadn't done in years – watching MSNBC all day long. The reason was that it was Election Day, and Art Graham was up for the US Senate from North Carolina – he was running as an Independent against Republican incumbent Richard Burr.

The media pundits were actually keeping a fairly close eye on the election. Richard Burr was well-known to be a thorn in the side of the cranky, refuse-to-play-by-the-rules maverick President, whereas Art Graham actually got along fairly well with the President, even though Graham had made it quite clear that he intended to caucus with the Democrats.

Results were slow to come in, and when they did, they showed a neck-and-neck race all day long. Sarah actually didn't leave the bed that day unless it was absolutely necessary – she was glued to the TV. Finally, though, at the end of the day, the results came in.

The former director of the CIA, the man who had personally recruited Sarah ten years before – _My God, was it REALLY that long ago?_ – had accrued fifty-two percent of the vote from North Carolinians, knocking Richard Burr out of the Senate, and joining Elizabeth Dole as the Senate representatives from the Tar Heel state.

"Unbelievable," Chuck said, having joined Sarah to watch the results. "Director Graham is now Senator Graham."

Sarah looked at him. There was an undertone to his voice that indicated he didn't entirely approve. "Is that… a problem?" she asked.

Chuck sighed. "I find it hard to let go of the fact that he once ordered me to be involuntarily sequestered," he replied. "You know, when I woke up in that facility in Moab, I thought I was never going to see my family… Morgan… you… ever again. And since Director Graham was the one who ordered me treated like a prisoner… yeah."

Sarah leaned her head on his shoulder. "Chuck… I understand," she replied. "But think of it this way… if that hadn't happened, you and I might never have admitted the true extent of our feelings for one another."

A smile slowly came to his face. "Well, I suppose I should thank him, then."

She smiled too. "Maybe so."

* * *

On November 15th, two and a half weeks after Kathryn Rachel Woodcomb had entered the world, Ellie and Devin had a big friends and family dinner to introduce them to baby Katie. Chuck and Sarah were invited, of course, along with Casey, Morgan and Anna.

All through dinner, Anna kept looking longingly at Ellie, holding Katie, then looking over at Sarah, and then throwing evil glances at Morgan. Morgan, of course, was being totally oblivious. When Anna said, "Gosh, I'd love to have a baby," however, Morgan practically choked.

Casey practically choked as well – but that was more because he was trying not to laugh than anything else. Finally, he calmed down, and Chuck could've sworn he heard Casey mutter, "Baby Morgans… no thank you," under his breath.

After dinner, the group settled in the living room, looking at pictures of Katie at the hospital, and pretty much for every day since then. It seemed that Devin was the kind of father who absolutely had to document every moment – every blink of the eye, every little motion, every time Katie puked, which was often.

Katie was passed around quite a bit, much to her displeasure. However, when Sarah received her, she quieted down, looking up at her aunt, eyes wide. Then she yawned and stretched out an arm – just like an adult would. Sarah smiled and laughed slightly –

And then she suddenly felt like her bladder had let go, as an uncontrolled gush of wetness flooded below where she was sitting. Sarah's eyes widened, and she looked across the room at her sister-in-law.

Ellie had just looked over at Sarah, and saw what had happened. "Oh my God!" Ellie said.

Sarah just nodded. "Chuck!" Ellie exclaimed. "Your wife is going into labor!"

Chuck turned from his conversation with Devin and Casey, looked across the room, saw what was going on – and his eyes rolled back in his head, and he collapsed.

"Oh for Christ's sake," Ellie groaned, annoyed. "Devin, John, can you help Sarah out to the Escape? I'll see if I can get my brother to wake up."

Devin took Katie from Sarah, and Casey gently slid an arm behind Sarah's back, supporting both her arms and boosting her to her feet. He supported her as she slowly made her way out the door.

Suddenly, his load was lessened by half. He looked over to his right – to see Chuck, who had bounced back from his unconscious moment and was now supporting Sarah as well.

"Sorry about that," he said quietly. "I guess… I panicked a little."

"Happens to the best of us, Bartowski," Casey grunted. "Bring her this way – we're not taking Devin's Escape."

Sarah looked over at him. "What?"

"We're taking the Suburban," Casey replied. "There is no POSSIBLE way anything is going to happen to you on the way to the hospital. You got that?"

Sarah smiled and nodded. "Thank you, John," she said quietly, tears beginning to come to her eyes.

He looked over at her. "Don't start, Walker," he growled. "I'm not in the mood for emotionalism right now."

Two minutes later, the Bartowski-Walker-Woodcomb clan had piled themselves into the Suburban, with John Casey driving. Katie had been left at the apartment, with Morgan and Anna to watch over her. "I hope this isn't a mistake," Ellie said worriedly.

"Babe, I'm sure everything is gonna be awesome," Devin replied.

Casey's driving reminded Chuck a bit of that night more than three years before – his first encounter with John Casey, when the NSA agent had gone more than a little berserk with a similar black Suburban. As the big Chevrolet rocketed down Beverly Boulevard well in excess of the speed limit, Sarah cried out sharply.

"God dammit!" she howled, clutching her abdomen.

"Chuck! Start your stopwatch!" Ellie ordered. Chuck didn't argue with his sister – he quickly switched his watch's function and complied.

When Sarah's breathing slowed and she sighed in relief, Ellie told Chuck to stop the stopwatch. Chuck did. "Forty-two seconds," he reported.

Ellie nodded. "Start it up again."

The ride was silent for the next few minutes. As Casey crossed over Normandie, though, Sarah howled again. "Two minutes, fifty-one seconds," Chuck reported, resetting and restarting the stopwatch.

"God," Ellie breathed. "John, we have to go faster, or I'm gonna be delivering babies in the back end of your truck!"

"I'm on it," Casey grunted. He activated the Suburban's police lights and siren and pressed the pedal to the floor.

Meanwhile, Devin had pulled out his phone. "Dr. Zinn, this is Dr. Devin Woodcomb," he said when the other end was answered. "Listen, Sarah Bartowski is going into labor… yes, I mean Agent Walker. She's going into labor, and we're headed for Cedars right now. I can make sure she gets prepped properly, but as a family member, I really probably shouldn't… okay, yes. Alright. We'll see you there."

When Casey reached San Vicente Boulevard, he whipped the Suburban hard to the left. He flew down the street, wreaking havoc among the cars exiting the Beverly Center.

Another hard right turn put them on Gracie Allen Drive, headed directly toward the Ruth & Harry Roman Emergency Department. Casey pulled the Suburban up in front of the door, bringing the NSA vehicle to a quick stop.

Several staff had come running outside, attracted by the lights and siren. Devin dove out the door, shouting instructions as he went. The well-trained ER staff didn't ask questions – they just did as Devin ordered.

Two minutes later, Sarah was in a wheelchair, clad only in a hospital gown, with Chuck rapidly wheeling her through the halls of Cedars-Sinai, bound for the maternity ward. Devin and Ellie were right behind them, and Casey had gone off to park the Suburban.

When they reached the ward, Dr. Zinn was there already, prepped and ready to deliver babies. "I guess you didn't want that Caesarean after all, Agent Walker?"

"What are you talking about?" she gasped. "I thought you said you didn't want to risk a natural birth!"

"Well, your body has decided otherwise," he replied. "We'll be monitoring things very closely. Don't worry. Everything will be alright."

Dr. Zinn stepped in front of Sarah. "Alright, on three, your husband, Dr. Woodcomb, and I are going to stand you up and get you onto the table."

Sarah had a completely irrelevant thought. "Which Dr. Woodcomb?"

"Doesn't matter," Dr. Zinn replied, as Devin stepped behind her. "One… two… three!"

And just as they moved her, she had another, incredibly strong contraction, causing her to scream directly in Devin's ear. His face took on a look of shock, and as soon as she was safely on the table, he clutched a hand to his ear.

"Wow," he gasped, rubbing the side of his head. "Not so awesome."

"Well, looks like we need to help you out a little there," Dr. Zinn said. "Roll on your side, please, Agent Walker?"

She looked at him curiously, but did as she was told. As soon as she was on her side, a nurse stepped behind her, quickly prepped a small area on the small of her back with tincture of iodine, and then just as quickly inserted a catheter to begin an epidural analgesia. Sarah yelped and jumped in pain as the catheter punctured her back.

"You'll thank me for it," Dr. Zinn assured her. "It should make things be a little less painful."

It didn't really do enough. Sarah was still miserable. An hour later, the pain had grown to what she would later describe as epic proportions, as she groaned, breathed deeply, and pushed, and then repeated, over and over again.

"We've got a baby on the way!" Dr. Zinn declared. When it crowned, though, it was the most godawful pain that Sarah had ever felt. She screamed out and squeezed Chuck's hand so hard he thought it was going to break. Instead of objecting, however, he just stroked her hand with his other hand and said, "You're doing great, Sarah."

She looked up at him, a murderous glare in her eyes. "If you EVER touch me again," she hissed, "I will SHOOT IT OFF!"

Chuck's eyes widened a little at that statement, and on the other side of the room, Devin and Ellie were doing their best not to laugh. The fact that they were still there was a major concession on Sarah's part – Devin had wanted to capture the whole thing on video for posterity, and Sarah hadn't wanted anybody in there but Chuck, so they had met halfway.

A moment later, there was a sharp cry as the first baby breathed its first lungful of air. Dr. Zinn smiled, and cut the umbilical. He handed the baby – a little girl – to a nurse, who quickly wiped her off, and then handed her to Chuck.

Chuck's eyes widened, and Ellie was afraid he was going to pass out again. But no – instead, he looked down at this little girl – _his daughter_ – with a look of wonder on his face.

"What's her name, Chuck?" Devin asked.

"Lisa Erin," Chuck replied softly. That had been the first on the list of girl's names they had agreed upon. Since Chuck knew the genders ahead of time, he knew exactly what the next one's name was going to be, too, but he stayed quiet.

Bending down, he showed little Lisa to her mother. Sarah's face went from being scrunched in pain to a look of pure joy. She reached her hand up and touched Lisa's face – and then jerked it away, screaming again in pain.

Chuck stood up quickly, but the scream was enough to set off a round of crying from Lisa. As tiny as she was, her cries were almost as loud as Sarah's.

"Alright, we've got number two on the way!" Dr. Zinn announced. Chuck quickly handed Lisa off to Ellie, and then took Sarah's hand in his again.

Sarah's face took on its pained look again, but she refrained from making any threats against Chuck's genitalia this time. Closing her eyes and gritting her teeth, she gave one last almighty push –

And the cry of another infant filled the room. Dr. Zinn cut the umbilical again, and a nurse took the little boy and wiped him off, handing him to Chuck. Chuck's smile was huge – his son, his little boy.

"John Marcus," Sarah whispered. Named after Casey and her own father, Marcus Reynolds.

* * *

An hour later, the excitement had subsided. Ellie and Devin had headed back home, to rescue their own child from the corrupting grasp of Morgan Grimes and Anna Wu. Casey, who had been nervously pacing the lobby of the hospital, had agreed to let them take the Suburban, provided they brought it back in the same shape they got it in.

Casey hadn't gone anywhere near the maternity ward during the birthing process – he was afraid he would himself pass out, and the last thing he needed was to appear weak in front of Bartowski and Walker. That would just be, well, a disaster.

But when the Doctors Woodcomb had informed him that everything was over, and told him which maternity suite Sarah, Chuck, and the new baby Bartowskis were in, he had practically bowled over everybody in his path heading up there. A security guard had tried to stop him, but Casey had merely growled and flashed his NSA identification card.

When the knock sounded on the door of the maternity suite, Chuck and Sarah looked at each other, not quite sure of who it was. "Come in," Chuck called.

The door cracked open slowly, and Casey stepped in. He didn't say anything at first, just looked at the two. "Walker, you look like hell," he finally said.

She laughed. "That may be, but I understand there's a path worn in the carpet down in the lobby?"

Casey turned bright red, but because of the dim lighting in the room, neither of them could really tell. Nonetheless, he felt embarrassed – he was letting emotions get in the way again.

It didn't help when Bartowski stood up and crossed to one of the bassinets. He picked up a small bundle of human being out of it, this one dressed in blue. "John Marcus Bartowski," he said quietly to the baby, "meet your namesake, the big, bad John Casey."

Chuck held the little boy out to Casey, whose mouth had fallen open in shock. He reached out his hands, gently taking little John from Chuck, and cradling him against his chest.

"You… named him after me?" he asked quietly, not really trusting his voice.

Chuck nodded, as he crossed back to the other bassinet, and picked up a little pink bundle. "And this is Lisa Erin," he told Casey as he held his daughter.

"John," Sarah said quietly.

That was the second time tonight that Walker had called him John. It just wasn't natural.

"Yeah?" Casey replied gruffly.

"We know that despite the fact that you're a stone-cold NSA killer –"

Chuck laughed, and a smile appeared on Sarah's face as she spoke. "That despite that, you're a good man who will basically put his life on the line to protect what he cares about… so we wanted to ask you if you'd be their godfather."

Casey was shocked speechless. He just stared at Walker for a moment, then looked over at Bartowski, who nodded in response to the unspoken question of _Are you serious?_ on Casey's face.

Casey looked back down at the baby in his arms, and to his surprise, felt a stinging warmth in his eyes as they filled with tears.

He looked back up at the other two, the agent and the human computer who he'd worked with for the last three years. Biting his lip, he nodded.

"I would… I would be honored to do so."

* * *

Devin and Ellie had returned with Devin's Escape and Chuck's Magnum, leaving the station wagon at the hospital and taking Casey back home in the Escape. Chuck was, himself, getting ready to head back home, since he was tired and Cedars didn't really have anyplace for him to stay.

He kissed his two children good night, and then crossed to Sarah.

"We're parents now," he said softly, as he leaned down to kiss her.

"I know," she said, smiling as his lips touched hers. When he pulled back, she looked up at him. Putting a hand on his head, she mussed his hair – just the opposite of what she usually did with it.

"You know, I've been doing some thinking," she whispered. "Maybe I won't shoot it off after all."

Chuck laughed. "Well, thank God for that."

Sarah smiled sweetly. "But I would seriously recommend you not come near me for awhile, buster."

* * *

_And that's it! The kids are born, the nine months are over!_

_But fear not… this AU is not at an end. It shall return soon._


End file.
